


Bury Your Flames

by mirokkuma



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: M/M, angst with a little calm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirokkuma/pseuds/mirokkuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's going to carry their life together out of here piece by piece, lose his ring over the side of a bridge in America, love Kame and let him go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bury Your Flames

**Author's Note:**

> I don't normally write from Kame's side :x

Even when it comes to matters of the heart, Kame works best when he works methodically. He’s only just lowered the last from a stack of light paperbacks down on top of the tightly packed assortment of dictionaries and books (so many pristine books. He’s sure Jin’s never got past the first chapter of half of them; the ones that Jin really loves don’t have perfectly white pages anymore, and few have escaped falling onto his chest and inevitably ending up creased underneath him when he reads late into the night), but Kame still takes a peek inside before sealing it up and scrawling _BOOKS_ onto the side in thick black marker.   


Capping the pen, Kame pockets it and climbs to his feet with a grunt. Only a few more, and then the crowd of boxes will be complete. It’s almost like the day Jin moved in.

  


  
The boxes are neither large and heavy nor in too bigger a supply - they barely fill the allocated corner of Kame’s living room, and any fretting over where to place fragile items in case stacking had been required was entirely needless.

  


 There may be a few more than when Jin had arrived, but this is unsurprising, Kame thinks as he wields the marker again ( _GUITAR SCORES/SHEET MUSIC_ ), because between work commitments and the general drama of life, they’ve made a lot of memories together. 

  


  
And then Kame slips the pen back into his pocket, scrubs at his eyes with a dusty sleeve, and sucks in a breath so deep it creates the lightest of aches across his sternum. 

  


 It’s not by far the first subtle pain to creep into his chest since last Saturday. If anything, that restrictive tightness is becoming familiar - an unforgiving little reminder that he wakes up to every day, replacing the warmth of Jin at his side.

  


  
Really, today hadn’t been a good day for this. Jin was working long hours - Kame didn’t know what on, but for over a week Jin had been in the process of leaving (if not already gone) each morning when Kame awoke, wearily returning home no sooner than 8pm each night - and Kame himself had only managed to get away at just gone 7:30pm on account of his promise to fit in an hour of unpaid overtime. 

  


 With Jin’s flight scheduled for the following Saturday, however, the obsessive-compulsive vein underlying in Kame’s motivation for a great deal of things was starting to itch, and he had soon concluded that there was no time like the present for getting prepared.

  


  
Jin would leave regardless, so he may as well go with his mind at peace and his belongings back where he wanted to come home to: his own apartment.

  


  
The first painful little constriction to Kame’s chest, lungs, had come along with the letter containing Jin’s ticket. It no longer was an issue of privacy for them to open each other’s mail - more a time saver for them both if the first to arrive home dealt with it and passed all that was necessary to the other. Like most days it had looked boring; a small stack of brown, white and beige envelopes with no indication that there could be anything of significance inside.

  


 When Kame had carefully slipped the ticket out onto the table, all the air had left his lungs. Not in a sudden rush, as per usual when receiving an unpleasant shock, but as though the knife he’d used to slit the envelope with had slipped and stuck in his side, deflating him.   

  


  
L.A., one way, four months. 

  


  
It had only been two miserably short weeks since Jin had returned to Japan. The three days he’d had off were spent entirely on family, friends, spontaneous drives up into mountainous prefectures and crashing in the early hours, barely conscious, on Pi’s living room floor. 

  


 Kame was at rehearsals, recordings, studios, anyway, so Jin’s ability to return yet be just as absent as when he was on another continent went as unnoticed as possible. 

  


  
The first day Jin started back at work was when Kame let himself notice. Although his lover was halfway out the door before he’d even rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the promise of their old routine slowly falling back into place was there, unspoken. It was foolish, they both knew, to give in to the temptation of a false sense of security with Jin’s impending album recording. But a brief ‘ _welcome home_ ’ each day, ‘ _take care_ ’, ‘ _have a good day_ ’, ‘ _I love you_ ’, indulging in good morning kisses over coffee, good night kisses at 2am with the lights out and Jin’s eyes equally dull as they were bright with tiredness.. The comfort of falling, exhausted, and curling into each other, neither of them could even begin to resist.

  


  
“Four months isn’t even _that_ long,” Kame tells himself out loud as he folds T-shirts, smoothes out the wrinkles after dropping them into the greedy mouth of a waiting box. “There’s Skype now.. Not like in ‘06. Nothing like that. Then we can talk, see each other.. He probably won’t even unpack half of this. --And there’s no point worrying about a conversation that’s four months away.” he adds loudly, as though the writhing anxiety in his stomach will take note.

  


  
The twisting nerves, nothing as forgivingly subtle as the aches and tension, had accompanied the next stab of pain in his already taut chest.

  


 It had been sudden that time; no option of hope like before, like finding that envelope and wishing, (maybe even praying) as he slit it open, all the while adjusting to the realization. 

  


  
It was nothing like that. Just Jin’s large hands engulfing his own, smattered pink and yellow-white from the pressure. “I think we should consider this a break,” Jin’s voice had sounded like a dying breath. “And then.. talk, when I get back, see what we think then..”

  


 He’d probably gone on to say more, but the white noise and intermittent deafness preceding a black out had already filled Kame’s ears by then. The dizzying hot flushes, cold sweats, prickling skin. After seven years through thick and thin, what exactly did a break mean for them?

  


  
Kame is still wondering (albeit more calmly) the same question as he shakes out and refolds the last shirt from the drawer. It’s nothing special; just another of Jin’s many plain black cotton shirts, soft with wear. The collar dips to skim the prominent bones there, and for such a non-descript item it always clings and pulls tight in just the right places. Jin always looks amazing in it, in that casual, careless (often entirely oblivious) way he carries himself.

  


 Kame’s fingers brush over the fabric in reminiscence of the warm skin usually underneath it, and a sudden sting of betrayal adds to that lingering tightness in his chest. Did Jin want to go on a break so he could enjoy every aspect of his second life in America to the fullest? It’s not the first time Kame’s unwillingly found his suspicions going down this route. The sudden thought of the women Jin will undoubtedly meet on his nights out appreciating the sight of Jin in this (‘ _stupid worn old kind of ugly anyway_ ‘) shirt just as much as he does, curling their fingers into the soft cotton against Jin’s skin like he wishes he could right now..

  


  
Blaming the shirt in entirety for his unpleasant train of thought, Kame overlooks the way it crumples into a corner when he drops it in the box, tapes it up and scribbles the contents onto the side. Of course Jin wouldn’t have done that while they’ve been together. Of course he wouldn’t.

  


  
Forging confidence is something that, with age and experience, Kame has good as perfected. There’s no room in his work - in his life - for showing uncertainty. Always being one step ahead, always knowing (or otherwise shaping) the outcome of a situation.. A certain need for control that those around him, and life in general, tends to respect.

  


 But there it is gone, replaced with the haunting and increasingly vivid image of his lover under dark lights, alcohol on his tongue as he wets his finger and so easily slips that ring off and into his pocket, leaving his hand bare as it glides down her spine, over her hips. 

  


  
Kame _hates_ insecurity. Equally as much he’s steadily despising himself for so easily doubting Jin, but with darkness creeping through the blinds and his --their- apartment no longer warm and familiar with half it’s contents crowded into boxes by the door, it leaves little space for Kame to let memories of all the good times in. The thought doesn’t truly leave until it’s startled out of him by the familiar sound of Jin’s key missing, scraping, then clicking and twisting in the lock.

  


  
“Oh.”

  


  
A beat, and then Kame raises his eyes from the floor. The hurt in Jin’s gaze when it meets his own seems to strike them both dumb. Kame’s lips purse tightly. There’s confusion swimming in those deep brown eyes, he realizes, and can only imagine he’s now reflecting it.

  


  
 “Oh.” Jin utters again, glancing down at the boxes as though the contents and concept is alien to him. Then, eventually: “I would have..”

  


  
Another beat. “Don’t be stupid, it saved a lot of time. I’m pretty sure I got everything.” Kame gestures vaguely to the apartment as a whole, feeling his stomach tighten again at the sight of it. Their home isn’t their’s anymore. It’s Jin’s fault. Smug, childish, demanding Jin who always gets whatever the hell he wants at everyone else‘s emotional expense. “But if I find anything I’ll send it along to your parents.” 

  


 Irrationality is something Kame hates, too.

  


  
Jin, not misguidedly, looks entirely thrown by all of this. Or as thrown as he ever will look. Kame’s learned to always look Jin straight in the eye - his expressions rarely did any more than belie the real depth of what was going through his mind. And even then, even years after Kame thought he’d finally gained an understanding of the complexity behind Jin’s outward simplicity, increasingly more over the past few years Jin’s eyes have shuttered. If it’s in deep, guarded thought or if the elder man really can just shut his feelings off entirely, Kame still doesn’t know, but when it happens it’s infuriating. (Something else Kame hates: chasing people for answers.)

  


  
“..Thanks.” Jin leans against the wall as he slips off his shoes, still taking in the sight of Kame’s apartment in disarray. He wouldn’t deny spending the better half of his train ride home wondering what would be waiting for him, but this wasn’t really what he‘d..

  


“I can play you at your own game, y’know.”

  


  
Jin blinks at Kame, who pales slightly as he blinks back. The statement seems to surprise them both, but Kame quickly regains his composure. Or likes to think he does; drawing up his shoulders, firmly rooting his socked feet on the hardwood floor, and setting Jin with a stony look do little to cover the distinct tremble in his voice as he continues. 

  


  
“I can have fun during this break, too. I’ve.. I’ve had so many offers I’d have never turned down if it weren’t for us. I’ll make you some good competition while you’re gone. Pretty good idea, really.” The tension in Kame’s chest suddenly snaps; his stomach leaps to his throat, his heart sinking, defeated, into the space it leaves behind. “I mean, we’ve had so little time for each other over the past.. What? Two years? Yeah.. Something no-strings for both of us will..”

  


  
It all comes out, meaningless, before Kame can stop himself. He hears the exhale following Jin’s gasp, and the seconds he’s helplessly staring down at the floor for drag on and on. _Oh God_ , he thinks, _please just say something_. But Jin never does. Instead he sidesteps the boxes, takes three strides forward. When Jin’s arms don’t stop tightening around Kame until his ribs ache, it’s the last thing he expects, but without thought Kame tilts his head and hides his stinging eyes in the crook of Jin’s neck; curling perfectly against his body is an instinct that misplaced resentment can’t touch.

  


  
“Stupid, stupid.. fucking _moronic.._ ” Jin eventually finds his voice, a deep vibration in his tense throat. “I swear, if you’re not lying ‘m going to cut off your.. Fuck, Kame, you’re as much an asshole as you’re assuming I must be if that’s what you think this is about.”

  


  
Other than a surprised whimper from Kame at being disturbed from his place buried against Jin’s shoulder, they sink to the floor in silence, and remain so as seconds slip into minutes. Kame’s arms, thick with muscle, eagerly find their way around Jin’s shoulders as Jin’s fingers splay his back, gripping tightly, covering as much skin as possible.

  


 If only in this little corner of it, it feels as though the world is falling apart.

  


  
“Jin?” Kame croaks when dead weight starts to settle in his limbs.

  


 “Cunt.” Jin replies, sounding the very definition of torn between tears or laughter.

  


When they’ve gradually eased themselves into a slightly more comfortable position between the boxes, stopped trembling quite so violently, and found a tight grip in each others hands, it’s another few minutes before either of them can find words.

  


 Surprisingly, it’s Jin that offers the first move.

  


  
“It’s because I love you.” 

  


 Kame can’t help cracking a watery smile at Jin’s unfaltering plainness. 

  


  
“Because the way I keep coming and going isn’t fair on you. That’s why, Kame, because it hurts us both. --Sure I dance with girls. But I dance with everyone, Kame, not fuck them. I’m more likely to call mom and cry into a pillow than fuck a girl to take away the homesickness, y’know?”

  


  
Kame shrugs. There’s that ache again, and his heart helplessly trying to slot back into place as Kame realizes that doubting Jin’s dedication to him is possibly the cruellest thing to have come out of the whole situation.

  


  
“But.. Then why do we need to take a break? Why do you need to move out? If we both still want this..” Kame doesn’t dare trace the ring on Jin’s finger, but his eyes don’t leave it for a second as he gives that large hand a gentle squeeze. It’s there, it’s always been there. It’s never moved, but now Jin‘s going to take it off. He‘s going to carry their life together out of here piece by piece, lose his ring over the side of a bridge in America, love Kame and let him go. “We’re.. not even going to have the talk when you get back, are we?”

  


  
Jin’s response is his free hand thumping Kame’s back. It doesn’t hurt, and not for a moment does Kame think Jin would intend it to. “ _You_. You, _you._ Staying up all night to Skype, breaking your own damned strict work ethics to take my calls, --missing me, this. I didn’t want that for you. Not again. Not again and again. My work, your work.. Our future, it’s just going to be the gaps between distances.”

  


  
A long, heavy silence follows. Kame’s lips purse against Jin’s shoulder, and Jin can’t tell if Kame has cried or is crying, but damn if the emotion isn’t catching up with him, tightening around his vocal chords and leaving his attempt at following that thought up nothing but a mute, wounded little sound. He’s done the wrong thing, and the realization (because it should never have taken him this long to realize what a stupid, stupid idea it was to leave with no explanations, even if they‘ve always been a couple of few words; the kind that just muddle through and yell and make do when then the ground is stable under their feet again) was more crushing than the decision itself had been.

  


  
“..Take what you need for America, and.. tomorrow I’ll unpack your things again.”

  


  
Kame hates when progress is halted, effort entirely undone. Past the warmth of Jin’s shoulder he can see the boxes, each labelled with a section of his (their) life, all perfectly prepared well in advance. Although, he reasons weakly, drained and with gaping holes in his thoughts, not allowing Jin to slip out of his life would be immeasurably more effort than simply packing the memories away had been.

  


  
“I can.” Jin’s throat rasps. “Kame, I’m--”

  


  
“Stupid. It’ll save time if I do it.” Kame’s pressed against Jin again, as close as he can get. Jin doesn’t for a moment view the way Kame’s small frame curls into his arms as seeking protection, nor does it distract him when they start to rock back and forth, awkwardly at first, smooth as a metronome once the balance is right. “I can do it. I know where it all belongs.”

  


  
Perhaps it was going to be an intense, sweeping, romantic gesture, the way Jin awkwardly lurches against him. Kame never finds out, because the next moment they’ve over balanced. Jin’s thick lashes are heavy with tears as he throws his head back to let out a confused, strangled blend of laughter and crushing sadness when they collide with a box. Kame clings to Jin’s chest, only adding weight to their fall.

  


“Even a workaholic at home.” Jin eventually says, magazines spilling out from beneath him as though he’s bleeding paper. Kame grunts, resting limply against Jin‘s side. “Guess we saved you the effort of opening this box up again..”

  


  
There’s a split second of hesitance, and then Jin leans down to press his lips to Kame’s hair. He probably murmurs something there, so close to Kame’s ear, but fuck if Kame can pay attention to subtle gestures when he has the sharpest side of a crushed box digging into his back. What a damned idiotic way for this evening to end, he thinks, but it’s the most welcome pain he’s felt all week.


End file.
